A Match Made by Cupid

Another bubble of humor crawled up her windpipe as the ridiculous image of a lion wrapped up in a Snuggie appeared in her head. She took a sip of water to combat the urge to laugh. When she was sure she had her laughter under control, she inhaled a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I somehow offended you. But come on, you know it’s a little funny.”

“Snuggies are nothing to laugh about,” he said in mock seriousness. “However, I get your take on it. You see me as the epitome of masculinity, so learning about my soft side disarmed you and made you question everything you think you know about me.”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.”

He regarded her silently for a moment. With no warning whatsoever, the air changed and a spark of something passed between them. A tingle teased along her skin, shimmied down her spine, and a crop of goose bumps exploded on her arms.

“Um…so…we should probably get back on track.” Her voice came out all weak and wobbly and breathy. Focus, she told herself. “Work. The article. My ideas.”

Jace sort of shook himself, as if waking from a deep sleep. “Absolutely. Back to business. What, exactly, are you proposing we expose in the article?”

She had to reorient herself, remember what they were discussing before the conversation turned a corner. “Valentine’s Day is the biggest con job going. It’s a gold mine for greeting card companies, chocolate manufacturers, florists and jewelry stores. If we go that route, focus on the monetization of the holiday instead of the lovey-dovey crap, we’ll be able to do most of our research from our desks.”

“How is that different from any other holiday?” Jace tapped his fingers against the surface of his desk. “They’re all a boon for the businesses you mentioned, and then some. Following that mentality, Christmas would be the worst of the lot.”

“You’re right,” she replied instantly. He had a valid argument. Luckily, so did she. “Partially, anyway. Every holiday is highly commercial, but you can’t really put Valentine’s Day in the same column as Christmas or Mother’s Day or Father’s Day.”

“Still not seeing the difference,” Jace said. The deep brown of his eyes darkened to a near black. If she allowed herself, she could drown in those eyes.

“It’s simple.” She dropped her gaze downward. She couldn’t look at him when he was staring at her with such intensity. “Mother’s Day is about celebrating mothers. Moms exist. They’re fact. Father’s Day is about fathers, so the same deal applies.” Not that she’d had a reason to celebrate Father’s Day for a couple of decades. “Both have a basis of fact. Valentine’s Day sticks out like a sore thumb.”

Jace let out a long sigh. “Maybe I should’ve eaten my Wheaties this morning, but I still don’t see what you’re getting at.”

A sarcastic retort sat on the tip of her tongue, but she resisted. “Okay, let me try it this way. Valentine’s Day is a holiday based on an intangible emotion. Not a fact.”

“Ah, but you’re forgetting the fact that Valentine’s Day—St. Valentine’s Day—began as a celebration for a saint, and was—”

“Right. I know the history,” Melanie interrupted. “But that isn’t why the holiday is celebrated today. At least,” she amended, “by the majority of people.”

“Fair enough.” Jace cleared his throat. Twice. “So, should I take this as your way of saying you don’t believe in love? Or in…I don’t know…the idea of celebrating love?”

“I love my mother. I have friends I care enough about that you could say I love them. But,” she said slowly, “romantic love is a whole different animal. I mean, you don’t believe in that type of love, do you?”

“Actually, I’m a card-carrying member,” he said in complete seriousness. “I’ve seen how love can heal, how it can survive incredible odds. And I hope to experience it myself someday.”

She stared at him in stunned silence. A minute passed, maybe two. Finally, she said, “Even supposing romantic love is real, Valentine’s Day is a forced celebration. The media hype is so overwhelming that men and women are suckered into spending money for gifts to prove their love. I…guess I think that’s ridiculous.”

“Wow, Melanie. Some guy must have done quite a number on you.”

Her mouth went dry. She took another drink of water, gathered her thoughts and said, “Gushy, feel-good articles about everlasting love are expected at Valentine’s Day. Why can’t we cater to the readers who prefer to be single and are sick of the happily-ever-after mentality being shoved down their throats everywhere they look?”

“I’m curious,” Jace said softly, but with an edge that made her sit up and take notice, “about what happened that soured you on the idea of love. And I’d like his name and address, please.”

Her throat closed and her heart picked up speed. The nonsensical urge to walk around the desk, to smooth away the rigid line of Jace’s jaw came over her. In an attempt to make light of the matter, to ease the overwhelming tension saturating the air, she joked, “Why? Are you going to show up with a baseball bat and knock him over his head?”

“Nah,” he said, holding her gaze with his. “Violence doesn’t solve anything. A conversation isn’t a bad idea, though. Point out he’s an idiot for…doing whatever he did to you.”

“Well.” A wave of heat, strong and scorching, radiated through her body. This was crazy. They were having a conversation about an imaginary relationship gone bad. “Sorry to say, there’s no one to talk to. I’ve never suffered from broken-heart syndrome.”

Disbelief lit Jace’s expression, but he didn’t press the issue. She counted her lucky stars for that one. “Here’s the thing, Mel. We can’t really change the article so drastically. Kurt’s approval is based on the way I explained it. But feel free to tangle with him if you want.”

“Wait a minute. You let me go on and on knowing that nothing I said would make a difference?” Tossing her pencil on the desk, she said, “Why? You could’ve said that right off and saved me the hassle and us the time.”

“That wouldn’t have been fair. We’re partners. Your viewpoint is important.” Damn him for making sense when she wanted to be mad. “Besides, until I heard your thoughts, I had no way of knowing if we could work them in or not. But maybe we can do a short lead-in about the monetization of the holiday, and play that against the rest of it.”

So she was stuck working hip to hip with Jace with no means of escape. She didn’t want to like him. She didn’t want to think about him. God, she was so screwed. “I guess all that’s left is to decide how we’re going to find the lovey-dovey couples to interview.” She rolled her eyes. “Talk about finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Love,” Jace said with a smug grin, “is everywhere. It certainly will be easier than finding a needle in a haystack.”

“No. We’ll find couples who profess they are in love, but none of them will be honest with us about their relationships.” Melanie was getting a headache just thinking about it. “We’ll hear how their lives are like a fairy tale, how life without the other would be painful and empty. They will probably be gooey-eyed and hand-holding and all of it will be fake. Bleh.”

Jace chuckled. “I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

“Won’t happen. Impossible.”

“You never know. You might walk away a changed woman with a completely different opinion on Valentine’s Day and love.” He shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”

Her mother’s romantic disasters made even the possibility of that nil. “Sorry. What you see is what you get,” she said, mimicking Jace’s earlier statement. “Accept it, Jace. Otherwise, you’ll only end up disappointed.”

Leaning back in his chair, Jace gave her a considering look. “Feel like gambling on that, Mel?”

What was he up to now? “What do you mean?”

He squeezed his fingers together. “A little bet between coworkers. I’m willing to gamble that your mindset on love—romantic love, that is—will change at some point during the course of this project. If I’m right…you’ll agree to go out on a date. With me.”

She almost laughed. There was a greater chance of the weather turning wonky and snow falling in mid-July than there was of her losing her marbles and jumping on the I-will-love-you-forever bandwagon. Especially in a six-week timeframe. “Um. That’s not a bet, Jace. Not when there is zero possibility of that happening.”

“I’d say you’re afraid the possibility does exist. Otherwise, you’d have already agreed.”

“If I agree, and I’m not saying I do, what do I get if I win?”

His brow furrowed. “How about you get a romantic evening with me?”

Now, she did laugh. “Nice try, but let’s go with ‘no’ on that one.”

“All right,” he said easily. “What do you want?”

The answer came to her immediately. “A picture of you in your Snuggie. And if Kurt agrees, the picture runs for a full month alongside your columns.” Placing both hands on the desk, she angled her entire body forward. “I choose the pose and the setting of the photograph. I’ll promise the shot will be tasteful, but anything else is up to me. What do you say to that?”

The slightest flicker of apprehension sifted over Jace. Truly, she didn’t think he’d go for it. After all, he had his playboy image to maintain. She started to pull away, when his hands came down on hers. “I don’t like to lose. Be sure you’re up for the challenge, Mel, because I won’t make it easy on you.”

Ha. This wasn’t a challenge. “Oh, I’m up for it. The question is, are you?”

“I’m not only in, I can’t wait to get started.” Lifting his hand, he tugged gently on her hair. “In the meantime, I’m going to start planning our date. And I can promise you a night you’ll never forget.”

“Uh-huh. You do that, Mr. Confident. I’ll start thinking up fun and interesting Snuggie poses.” Finally, it was her turn to wink. “You are so in trouble.”

“Maybe,” he agreed, seeming all too pleased with himself. “But then again, maybe I’ll win. There is at least a fifty-fifty shot of this going my way. Pretty decent odds.”

Just that quick, some of her confidence evaporated. A wary signal bleeped in her brain, reminding her that she had to be very, very careful around Jace Foster. He was a man who made her want what she didn’t believe in. And that, she knew, could lead her down a road she’d prefer to avoid. At all costs.

Chapter Three

Hours later, Melanie let herself in at her mother’s house and went to start dinner. They’d developed a routine over the years, one that included eating a meal together at least once a week. More often when one of them needed extra support.

Sure, the weight of that “extra support” landed more often on Melanie’s shoulders than vice versa. But that didn’t matter. They were a team. Had been ever since the day David Prentiss decided that family life didn’t agree with him and walked out on his wife and daughter, never to look back. Melanie had been seven. Old enough to have memories of her father but young enough to get used to life without him.

In her mother’s seventies-era kitchen, Melanie grabbed a box of dried pasta and a jar of tomato sauce from a cupboard. She’d found her mom in here that morning, she recalled, sobbing over a half-eaten toaster waffle. Loretta had cried for the better part of a year, though after that first morning, she’d attempted to hide her tears from Melanie.

But closed doors, running water and a loud television weren’t enough to cover the sounds of grief. Nor did the layers of carefully applied cosmetics mask swollen eyes.

Late one night about eight months into it, Melanie crawled into bed with her mother. She’d wrapped her arms around her, holding her tighter than she ever had before, and they’d cried together. As far as Melanie knew, that was the last time her mother had shed a tear over David Prentiss. She knew for certain it was the last time that she had.

Melanie glanced at the clock. It was Tuesday, which meant Loretta closed shop at six and would be home by six-thirty. After filling a large pot with water, Melanie set it on the stove to boil. She unscrewed the jar of sauce and dumped the contents into a saucepan before preheating the oven for the garlic bread. A few minutes later, she was chopping vegetables for a salad.

She wasn’t expected to prepare dinner, but sitting around and waiting for her mother to come home and cook seemed wrong. With the salad ready and in the fridge, the pasta boiling and the sauce simmering, Melanie dropped into a chair to relax. Hopefully, the evening wouldn’t be another rehash of her mother’s newest failed relationship.

Melanie had lied to Jace earlier when she said she’d never suffered from broken-heart syndrome. Her heart ached every time her mother’s did. It killed Melanie to see the pain her mom went through. Maybe, she thought, this would be the last for a while. Maybe she’d be able to convince Mom to take a hiatus from dating.

Lost in thought, she jolted when her cell phone rang. Probably Mom, calling to see if she needed to stop and pick anything up. Without looking at the display, Melanie said, “We’re all set unless you want dessert. And dinner should be on the table in like ten minutes, so I hope you’re on your way.”

The words were barely out of her mouth, when she heard the front door open.

“Dinner, eh? I thought you’d never ask, darlin’.” Jace’s deep voice emanated through the line. “Sounds great. Where at?”

Ugh. What was he calling her about? “Obviously, I thought you were someone else. And you’re not invited to dinner. Sorry for getting your hopes up.”

Loretta entered the kitchen and smiled in greeting. “Who wants to come to dinner? Is it Tara?” she asked, speaking of Melanie’s best friend. “Have her join us!”

Before answering, Melanie gave her a quick once-over, searching for any signs of distress. Her gray-blue eyes were clear, so she hadn’t cried on the way home. And, Melanie noted, she’d had her medium-brown hair cut into a wispy sort of bob that suited the fine features of her face. She looked good. Happy, even. Which meant she was well on her way to recovery.

“Hello?” Jace said loudly. “Did you hang up on me, Mello Yello?”

Loretta appraised Melanie with a speculative gleam. “That very masculine-sounding voice can’t possibly be Tara. Who’s on the phone, dear?”

Uh-oh. Sensing a danger zone rapidly approaching, Melanie covered the phone with one hand. “It’s no one. Just a guy I work with.” Into the phone, she said, “I haven’t hung up on you. Yet. You’ve got five seconds, Jace. What do you want?”

“That’s a leading question, Mel,” Jace said in a light, almost teasing tone that caused her heart to skip a beat. “But seeing how I promised to avoid any and all types of sexual innuendo, I’ll get right to the point.”

“Jace as in Jace Foster? I read his columns all the time,” Loretta said from Melanie’s left side. “Why does he want to come for dinner? Oh! Are you two dating?”

“No,” she said to her mother. To Jace, she said, “Yes, please. Getting right to the point would be—” The sizzling sound of water boiling over stopped her midsentence. “Actually, hold that thought.” Slamming the phone down on the table, Melanie raced to the stove and pulled the pot of pasta off the burner.

“Is this Jace Foster?” She heard Mom say behind her. “This is Loretta Prentiss. Melanie’s mother? I’m a huge fan of your ‘Man About Town’ column.” She gave a delighted laugh. “Really! I’ve always read the Gazette—even before Melanie started working there.”

And there she goes, Melanie thought with a great deal of humor. Mom, she knew, would chatter about anything and everything if given the chance. That was fine. Mom could talk to Jace while Melanie cleaned up the pasta mess and finished getting dinner ready. If she was lucky, he’d beg out of the conversation and Melanie wouldn’t have to talk to him until tomorrow.

“You should come for dinner, Jace,” Loretta all but gushed. “I’ll give you the address. Do you have something to write with?”

“Mom! No!” Melanie said loudly. Maybe too loudly. “Give me the phone back.”

“Please excuse me for a second, Jace. My daughter is trying to talk with me. Yes, I know she can be quite stubborn.” Turning toward Melanie, she said, “What is it? And why didn’t you tell me you were involved with someone?”

“Because I’m not. Did he tell you we were? We are not dating.” She held her hand out palm-side up. “The phone, Mom.”

Disappointment gathered in her mother’s eyes. “I guess I should’ve known better, but you can’t blame a mother for hoping. And I don’t see why he can’t join us for dinner.”

Melanie lowered her voice in the hopes that Jace wouldn’t hear her. “I spent all day with him. I don’t want to spend the evening with him, too. Besides, this is supposed to be time for you and me. Remember?”

Loretta gave her a considering look, but nodded. “I think there’s more to it, and you’ll explain every bit of it to me later.” Pressing the phone back to her ear, she said, “I’m very sorry, Jace. It seems my daughter requires some mother-daughter time tonight. Perhaps we can plan something for the future?”

“Thank you.” More relieved than she ought to be, Melanie removed the garlic bread from the oven and turned off the stove burners. Then, ready to discover why Jace had called to begin with, she went to reclaim her phone.

Her mom was pacing the length of the kitchen as she talked. Melanie waved to get her attention. Mom gave her the “one more minute” sign, saying, “Isn’t that sweet of you? If that’s the case, you’ll definitely have dinner with us.”

This couldn’t be happening. “Mom? I thought we agreed—”

“No, no, don’t worry about that. We’ll keep everything warm until you get here. It isn’t a problem at all, especially with you going out of your way and all.” Mom shot her a warning glance before rattling off the address. “Okay, Jace. We’ll see you soon.”

Melanie stared at her mother in disbelief. “What just happened?”

“Don’t you look at me that way, Melanie Ann. I didn’t have a choice.” She walked around Melanie and returned the bread to the oven. “But I’m sorry if you’re upset.”

“What just happened?” Melanie repeated through gritted teeth as her mother stirred the sauce, turned the burner on again and covered the pan with a lid.

“He’s doing you a favor,” Loretta said briskly. “The least we can do is offer him dinner for his troubles.”

“Uh-huh. I’ve had enough of Jace Foster’s favors for today.” And somehow, he’d talked her into a ridiculous bet that she wished she’d never agreed to. “What is it this time?”

Pouring the pasta into a large bowl, Loretta said, “He’s returning your laptop, which you apparently left in his office today.” She let the weight of that sit for a good thirty seconds. “What was I supposed to do? Tell him he could drop it off but not invite him in? And if he’s going to visit for a while, we might as well feed him.”

Oh, hell. Melanie couldn’t fault her mother’s logic. Or, for that matter, Jace’s actions. Even if she hadn’t remembered until now that she had forgotten her laptop. “Yay, we’ll hold dinner for him. How thrilling,” she muttered under her breath.

Leaving the dinner preparations, Loretta came forward and pulled Melanie into a hug. She smelled like the salon. A combination of fruity and floral shampoos, hair sprays and the chemicals from the hair treatments she’d given that day. In other words, she smelled like Mom.

“You seem really upset over this, sweetheart. I don’t understand why, but how bad can one little dinner be?” Mom said as they separated. “How about if I plead exhaustion after we eat? That will have him on his way in no time.”

The balls of stress that had begun to tighten in Melanie’s muscles relaxed. “That would be perfect. Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

“Yesterday, as a matter of fact. But I can never hear it too often. And I love you, too.”

Taking three plates and three bowls out of the cupboard, Melanie started to set the table. Jace. Here. For dinner. She almost felt as if the entire universe was working to put them in the same room as often as possible. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have a professional relationship with Jace. Could we keep anything too personal out of the dinner conversation?”

“What constitutes as too personal?” Loretta asked with more than a tinge of humor. “Be exact, dear. You know how I am.”

“Anything that has to do with Dad, for one thing.” Dumb, maybe, but Melanie did not want Jace in on the whole “my father abandoned us and never looked back” story. “Oh, and anything to do with your love life or my dating history.”

With a snort, her mom said, “What dating history? The boy I had to bribe you to go to senior prom with? Or the blind dates that Tara convinced you to go on? Or—”

“Right. All of that.”

“Because I don’t know about anyone else you’ve dated.” Her mom’s razor-sharp gaze zeroed in on hers. “I don’t even know if you’ve ever had sex!”

“Mom! Jeez, that’s what I’m talking about. Don’t you think that’s a little too much information between mother and daughter? Even as close as we are?”

“I’ve never had an issue discussing sex with you,” Mom pointed out. “You’re the one who shies away from any talk of intimacy.”

“Because for most people, intimacy is private. But for the record, so we never have to have this discussion again, I’ve had sex.” Melanie grabbed a handful of silverware. “And why are you bringing this up now, moments before my…um…coworker arrives?”

Her mother, naturally, ignored that question and asked a new one. “Well, have you ever had really great sex?”

Melanie gurgled a non-reply and continued setting the table. She was not, under any circumstances, going to answer that question.

“That’s a no,” Mom said, adding a drinking glass to each of the place settings. “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Every woman deserves a few nights filled with great sex.”

“It is not a no or a yes,” Melanie countered. “More like an ‘I don’t want to talk about this, so I’m not going to.’”

“How did I raise a daughter so afraid of intimacy?”

And that was another question that Melanie was not going to answer. Ever. “I’m not afraid of intimacy, Mom.” She didn’t consider herself afraid, anyway. Careful, maybe. And intelligent. There was nothing wrong with either of those traits. “I like my life the way it is. Whether or not I’ve had great sex has nothing to do with my life. It is a nonissue for me.”

“Hmm,” Mom murmured. “That, my darling daughter, is how I know you’ve never had great sex. Because if you had, you wouldn’t be so quick to call not having it a nonissue.”

It was at times like this that Melanie wished desperately for a sibling. She wasn’t picky. Either a brother or a sister would do. All she needed was someone to divert Mom’s attention every now and then.

“You know what we should do?” she asked in an effort to change the subject. “We should visit a few animal shelters this weekend and find a lovable dog or cat for you. It must get lonely here sometimes.”

“Don’t be silly, Melanie. I’m not home enough to properly care for a pet.” Leaning over, she plopped a kiss on Melanie’s cheek. “And I have you.”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Sure. If you think about getting yourself some great sex.” The doorbell rang, announcing Jace’s arrival. Mom nodded in the general direction of the front door. “And perhaps you should consider having that great sex with him. He seems like the type of man who knows—”

Melanie grasped her mother’s shoulders lightly, interrupting her. “Mom, I need you to stop talking about sex right now. Especially sex with Jace. Okay? Please? I’m begging.”

“I knew it! You like him.” Her mother smiled and patted her cheek. “Stop worrying, Melanie. I’ll behave. We wouldn’t want to scare him off, now would we?”

“There is nothing to scare him off from.” Melanie turned on her heel and went to let Jace in. Never again, she promised herself, would she ignore a bad-day vibe. The next time a day began with something as foretelling as burning her own hair, she’d jump back into bed and hide until the sun rose again.